Words
by Tumblr Ate My Soul
Summary: It's a Lily/Barney story from Barney's POV. Lots and lots of angst. I own nothing! R&R please!


They are lying in his bed, their naked skin glistening with sweat and he tingles all over, words on the tip of his tongue wanting to burst out. His hand reaches out to hers but she moves it just as he's about to intertwine her fingers with his and his head screams 'I don't care' but his fingers feel cold and he feels abandoned. As the sweat dries, she slowly starts to move and, soon, the bed is empty, the sound of water running echoing through the silent apartment drowning out the sound of his own breaths (the ones he's counting) and the blood pumping through his body (the sound stops roaring in his ears). He lies there, waiting for her to come back to bed (back to him because he's not used to sleeping alone and he thinks she's not, either) but, when she re-enters, she's dressed, a duffle bag in her hand.

She thanks him for taking her in and 'everything else' and says Robin helped her find an apartment so she's moving out (he never hated anyone more than he hates Robin in that moment) and he answers cheerfully how it wasn't a problem and having her around was great, how she was the best fake wife he ever had (definitely better than porn) but those aren't the words he wants to say. He wants to tell her he's cold and she should come back to bed, come back to him; wants to tell her he'd miss her and that he wouldn't mind her being his actual wife, wants to tell her he'd give up his womanizing ways if she would just stay; wants to say the words that had been battling to get out for years, words he still hoped she wanted to hear even though he knew she never did and never would.

And she thanks him again, says she needed the emotion-and-guilt-free sex with someone she could trust. She asks for him to keep it quiet and he flinches (knows she didn't notice) and smiles a wide fake smile, reassuring her his lips are sealed. Her turns around so he wouldn't have to watch her leave, though and, as he hears the door close, he falls apart, feeling every shred of his being torn and ripped. Slowly, he runs his hand through his hair and hugs her pillow close, breathing in her scent.

For months after that, he picks up only redheads, never takes them home and sneaks out when they're asleep, going back to his bed and those sheets, that pillow still keeping him company. The smell is gone but he likes to pretend it's still there, holding him close like he wishes she would. When she gets back together with Marshall, he takes the sheets off, folds them gently and places them in a box; the box is placed under his bed never to be opened again. He still doesn't bring girls home, hoping beyond hope that she might decide to come back to him eventually, the words still there, just waiting to be said. Every night, he dreams of her, hopes for her, thinks only of her and wishes only for her but she never comes and he's more screwed up than ever.

He knows there's no more hope as he weds her and Marshall and he's happy for them, he really is ('cause she's happy and that's all he ever wanted) but it still hurts like hell and the only reason he doesn't end it all, he realises, is because he still needs to be there, to stay close to her, no matter what.

It takes time but he feels like he's close to letting go when he gets together with Robin; he takes out the sheets (_her_ sheets), washes them and starts using them again and, one night, as he's lying next to Robin, heaving, their skin glistening with sweat on those same sheets, he feels disgusted with himself, feels like he just betrayed Lily and every emotion he ever directed at her. So he waits until Robin's asleep and then gets into the shower.

As the scalding hot water burns his skin and the mist all around him rises, he lets the tears flow, the sound of the rushing water drowning out the sound of the words that had been fighting to break out for years (since the day they met). The soft whisper that slips through his lips echoes in his mind "I love you Lily"; his knees are quaking and his vision swimming and he can see her, next to him, her red hair glowing, catching errant drops of the hot water and her pale, porcelain skin glistening under the fluorescent lighting, turning red from the heat. She shimmers while she moves. He puts the shower nozzle up and gently touches her silky skin, his fingers dancing over it, creating patterns he often imagined before. Slowly drawing her in, he hugs her close and smoothes her hair down with his palms, feeling her small hands pressing into his back. He cries harder (harder than ever before) kissing her hair and face frantically, murmuring words of love and devotion into her soaked hair.

He hears a soft "Barney?" from the bedroom and she suddenly disappears from his arms leaving him hollow and empty. Steadying his voice, he yells out "In the shower". The water conceals the tear tracks on his face and the redness of his eyes isn't as prominent as it could have been when Robin joins him in the shower. The next morning, he shreds and burns the sheets, destroying the only evidence of a broken heart (it crosses his mind, but only for an instant, that those were his best sheets, bought especially so _she_ would have something to sleep on when she moved in so long ago).

That evening, they're all at McLaren's and, if he glances at her more often than he should, laughs at her jokes harder than he should, he feels it's OK and he can allow himself little slips like that; that he deserves them, feeling like she owes him something for all the pain she put him through.

When him and Robin fall apart he doesn't suffer much, feeling like the mere attempt at a serious relationship made him grow in Lily's eyes a bit but the nights get lonely and he feels the lack of her by his side more acutely now than ever before (especially now that Robin's not there to make him fool himself) so he goes back to his old ways, hoping beyond hope that he would rid himself of the pain eating at his insides and finding it lacking in every way.

He screams out (Lily) as he finishes with another nameless, faceless girl in his bed and, one night, he gets so drunk he imagines a fiery night of passion and love with her. In the morning, he wakes up with his arms around a pillow and images of weddings and children (the children he never wanted) and happily-ever-afters. The pounding headache that comes along with the light rushing into his bedroom crushes his hopes for he-doesn't-know-which time.

She approaches him once, days (months?) later and she asks if everything is alright. Tells him she's worried and asks what's going on. He brushes her off but, when she takes his hand, his fingers wrap around hers in a vice grip, afraid to let go. "I love you Lil." Her fingers slip away, leaving his, and she keeps a distance for months after that.

Some days, he wishes he kept the sheets and then feels betrayed by his own thoughts.

He thinks it unfair that the all-loving Lily that claims he deserves said love just as much as the next person can't find it in herself to love him like he wants her to.

They never speak of it again and pretend (always) that it never happened and it hurts a little less each day until the day comes when he's happy with his own life and, yes, he still loves her; he's just coping.


End file.
